


I'm A Fucking Gay Princess

by Idealuk



Series: The Sound Of Violence [2]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Divergent, Family Drama, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Love, M/M, Movie Reference, Sequel, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-20
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-09 09:08:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1144160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idealuk/pseuds/Idealuk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the first sequel to "Dying Is How We Begin". This is their beginning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm A Fucking Gay Princess

**Author's Note:**

> I had been wanting to do sequels to "Dying Is How We Begin" for a while, but couldn't find the inspiration/angle, but then iTunes played "The Sound Of Violence" by Cassius one day, and there it was. It took me for ever to write this because I had surgery in the duration, the holidays got in the way, and I also hit writer's block. Most of it was written before watching 4x01, but a little obviously wasn't, so yeah ... Not BETA'd. Mistakes are mine.

The uneven torque of the spin back around has his head wobbly and him a little dizzy

Figures. ... Typical.

It’s not the first time that Mickey has taken note that Gallagher uses the pads of the base of his thumbs more than most people. One day, before …, he’d almost asked him if he knew that, yeah, it gave more force, but with less control, but Ian _was_ controlling him at the moment and Mickey wasn’t ready for Firecrotch to know that he noticed things about him. (And, yes, it was also typical for Ian to induce dizziness on the Milkovich whom just keeps stealing his heart.)

One minute, he was dead, and the next he’s standing here with him. Mickey is about to finally tell him about the thumb thing when Ian speaks first.

”I have to go see my family,” he says as he puts the pieces of the gun in one of his pockets, and hefts his rook sack that has his jacket stashed over it between the straps on to his back. ”I sort of want you to come with me if you meant what you said”.

”I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about”. He swipes a remaining tear from his cheek as he re-squares his shoulders with intent. He isn’t going to hold out, but he is still Mickey, and he knows that Ian will appreciate being reminded of that seeing as he likes him as is enough to keep wanting from him. He dares to grin at the former soldier with down-casted eyes.

”Mickey!” He misses the tell by tossing his glance upward and adjusting his bag, exacerbated of Mickey’s backtracking when ever he thought that they were moving forward, and looks straight as he takes a step towards home.

He’s familiarly stopped by a hand to his chest and Mickey’s smirk kind of grew as he stepped around to the front of the redhead.

“Okay,” he looks back down to ground having some of his nerve slip, “maybe I said ... what ever, and maybe I even,” he lowers his voice before continuing, “meant it,” he pipes up determined to drive in his next point, ”but it’s your fault with the always-being-around and doin’ me like a crack head needs a ...,” his body arches towards Ian’s as he, and it, remember how much they’ve missed having the boy this close, and that he can’t get enough so much that he almost forgets to say the last word, “hit”.

He continues to get lost in the smile now playing across Ian’s face before finally remembering himself, and grouses. ”But why does that mean that I have to deal with your family?”.

Ian’s beam gets a little bigger as leans down for a peck on the dark-haired guy’s lips. “Because that’s what people in love do, Mickey,” he says matter-of-factly as he walks around Mickey and towards the stairs of the abandoned building. A few seconds go by before he realizes that was the first time that he initiated a kiss between he and Mickey and he definitely loves how he felt like he just could.

Meanwhile, Mickey is having to accept that he can’t come up with a good argument, and, seeing as he kind of fell in to that one, that he still likes kissing Gallagher even when he is the one kissing him. He has an other thought and chases after the taller boy.

“Okay. Okay, but, if we go see your family, it’ll be hours before you’re in me, so can we just bone first?”.

Ian throws back his head with a laugh, drops his bag, and turns around to grab Mickey’s cheeks and kiss him properly.

Mickey puffs victoriously and smiles against Ian’s mouth in knowing that he can still get that fire crotch when ever he wants.

It’s quick, dirty, hard, and sloppy. They both know that the sex that they’re going to have after Ian explains every thing to his family will be what really counts for any thing. They just need that real connection back and some thing to hold them over until later. About a half of an hour later, they are walking back to the Gallagher house, intentionally bumping in to each other and discreetly letting hands, arms, and legs graze parts of the other boy with the goofiest grins on their faces.

After a while Ian forces his smile in. He needs to know one more thing from Mickey.

“So, the kid ...?,” Ian tries to ask as casually as possible, but it’s really not, at all.

Mickey just keeps walking and looks down at the cracked pavement as he answers.

“She smoked, drank, and did more drugs than I do. She lost it. Probably wasn’t even mine any way”.

Ian is shocked by the little bit sadness that comes with the loss of the potential of having a littler version of Mickey running around, but that is quickly covered up with the relief of not being tied to Svetlana, and the hope that, one day when they’re ready, they can get one that is just theirs.

He speeds back up and bumps in to Mickey again and they go back to smiling the rest of the way to the house.

”Ian?!”.

They hear Fiona screech before they see her running towards them from where Mickey’d last seen her with V coming behind her.

Ian passes his bag to Mickey, whom slings it over a shoulder while trying to be invisible, and puts his arms out to brace her.

“Fi, I’m fine, calm down. Th--“.

“But--Wa--Wh--,” she tries to touch him as many sisterly places as possible to make sure he’s real, but he turns her around with a hand on one of her shoulders.

He takes back his sack of belongings, letting it hang from his hand, and guides her back toward the house.

“I’ll explain every thing inside”.

Mickey thinks it’s kind of stupid that Ian took the bag back. He could have just kept carrying it sense he was making him go to the house any way and throws him an unseen glare that says as much. The things he’s now willing to do for Gallagher, now that he’s back, and alive, and his, would make a younger Mickey try to beat the shit out of the current evolution. He wouldn’t have cared if he thought about things like that. He just wants to know what it feels to ... he doesn’t even know how to put _that_ in to words to think. He and V walk silently beside the siblings visibly aware of the confusing awkwardness of the circumstances of the moment.

The whole family, except Frank whom had come in through the kitchen to raid it while the boys were on their roof and is still raiding, is coming through the door upon hearing their sister screaming their presumed-dead brother’s name in time for Ian to push them back in.

A firecracker of responses pop off as they trip over each other in the doorway.

“Ian! You’re alive!”.

“How could you just leave, and die, and come back? You stole Lip’s identity! He had to back out of M.I.T.”.

About that, Lip is only one to not have a verbal reaction to seeing his brother again, he just looks really pissed off.

“Cool!!! Is this the zombie apocalypse?!”.

“Eewin?”.

”Good to see you, baby, but what’s with Dirty Mil--”.

“Ian!, I knew you weren’t dead!,“ they all hear the eldest of the Gallaghers bellow from his forage at the other end of the house.

“You already asked me how to get in touch with the V.A. to see if there’s any way that you could get comp’d,” Lip asserts as every one makes their way in to the space between the living room and the kitchen as it is the only place in the whole house they’d all fit in.

“I’m not going to tell _them_ that he’s alive. What the federal government doesn’t know can’t hurt them. ... Gallaghers can’t be killed!,” Frank scoffs while chewing on a bite of the sandwich he’d just made and waving the rest around in one of his typically exuberant hand gestures, ”You should heard how hard Sheils says it was to kill Mom!”. He points to his children and persists, “Your mother wanted to die and is still dyking it up who-knows-where. You get that from her,” he concludes having directed his finger’s aim specifically to Ian.

Ian rolls his eyes, V brushes Frank away with disgust written all over her face, and Fiona crosses her arms and tosses her head in readying to make a humorously ironic observation.

”Said the recent voice of the local gay-rights movement”.

“Like any one whom knows me would ever really believe that I’d get carnal with an other man!” Frank snorts as he slumps in to a chair, but that’s the last noise he makes for a while because that sentence backfires on him, and he see almost every one in the room thinking that, if he were drunk enough or the money is right, he definitely would. Hell, they’d be late in thinking it, actually.

Fiona stands in front of her second younger brother and squeezes his shoulders in affectionate aggression with a sigh.

”Ian, you’re my brother, I love you, and I’m _really_ glad you’re alive and okay, but what the fuck?!”

Ian gently removes her hands and sits her in one of the kitchen chairs.

”I wanted to enlist – serve my country – and I wasn’t thinking of the shit it’d cause,” he throws Lip an apologetic look, ”and some guy from my platoon must’ve grabbed my dog tags before going out by mistake”.

“Isn’t never taking those off the first that they drill in to you at boot camp?,” his older brother spouts, and the words drip with the bitterness he has in him.

Ian grimaces back at Lip, “Yeah, and you’re not supposed to get drunk on-base and play ‘Who Am I?’ when you have a 5 AM ... I didn’t even know the guy and didn’t know what happened until I woke up the next day and they threw me out. I was detained first to make sure it wasn’t part some thing bigger, and that’s why they didn’t inform you, but, once they saw that I just wanted to serve, they couldn’t deny that I was a good soldier, and didn’t press charges, but I can never enlist again, and don’t want to.” He ends the exposition with a promising smile.

“Ian ...!”. Fiona ultimately decides to simply be thankful that her brother’s alive and stands up to hug him again. “But why is Milkovich here?,” she asks in a whisper, but every one can still hear her.

“Bet I can guess why!”. Frank can’t help himself as he guides a loose piece of bologna in to his mouth.

Fiona turns to him wondering how he would know any thing about what ever this is.

“We’re together,” Ian grinds the words out from behind his teeth, annoyed that Frank made it so he doesn’t have complete control over how this comes out. He knows how big of a step this is for Mickey and he doesn’t want to make it rougher than it has to be.

“What?,” Fiona bids to her brother in a stutter, not understanding.

“We’re --”.

“It’s not uncommon to feel obligated to be moral support for the person you’re sleeping with, Fiona,” Frank splatters on like he does.

“Huh?,” Fiona pivots back around towards her father, the most obvious summation being the furthest thing from her mind.

Lip is beyond over this shit. “Fiona!’ He grabs her attention, then, with his eyes, tells her to think, and chooses not to say the actual words. He may be over it, but he’s also smart enough to not set Mickey Milkovich off in his house, and he already has to fix the holes that Carl’s just created.

After a stunned moment of silence, Fiona moves in front of Mickey, tries to read his eyes for the truth, and finally asks, “You’re gay?!,” as though it’s the craziest thing she’s ever heard.

“We fuck,” he crooks his head towards Ian, “He gets me off. Hear it how you want,” he spits out, despite his vulnerability being clear to every one in the room.

Every one, except Fiona, that is. She’s too blinded by her desire to protect her brother to see Mickey was quaking behind a huge front. She yanks at the hair on the back of his head and screams in his face.

“You’ve been using him?! He’s bett--“.

As Ian lets his things slip to the floor while jumping in to separate them, Frank lapses back to bestowing little-known information, “They’ve been at it for years before he left! I’m sure our Ian was a consenting participant in the pleasurable practice of--“. He quickly regrets not taking the opportunity to clarify that, if any one, Ian wasn’t the one being used ... yet, not, because Mickey scares him.

Fiona had turned back towards Frank, and, therefore, released Mickey, but is reinvigorated to attack, though, now, Ian is in the way, so she just yells through him.

“For years?!”.

Mickey won’t take any more. He jumps back beside whom he’d apparently do any thing for, and subconsciously grabs his hand, ”It’s. Not. Like. That. I love him!”.

The prideful smirk that lit up Ian’s face doesn’t dim when Mickey shakes their hands from each other only a second after they’d connected, because he knows that they are both just new to that stuff, but his features go dark to his older brother’s next words.

“Finally starting to grow half a pair, Mick,” Lip queries being the only one able to speak after Mickey silences even himself with the semi-public declaration.

Ian squares himself in front of his comically shorter older brother. “It would be a shame if they had one brother come back from the dead only to see an other die”.

“Love?,” now staring blankly at her kitchen floor from where she’d stumbled back by the power of Mickey’s words, Fiona’s slow departure from her stupefied reverie is what pre-empted her brothers from arguing further.

Lip chuckles from behind his brother and turns, with a snarl, toward Mickey. “Yeah, tell her how you loved him enough to push him in to going to a fucking warzone because he would rather do that than stay here watching you be married to some knocked up skank, especially after you played Hot And Cold with him for years!“.

Ian presses a hand in to the wall to stop Lip from getting any more in Mickey’s face. “His dad would’ve killed him ‘cause of me – almost did – and he didn’t _want_ to want me. It’s chemical,” he reviles, using his brother’s own words against him.

“You actually believe that?!,” the elder brother lashes back, “I thought you were smarter than that. You could have died!”.

“’The fuck you know about _any_ thing!,” Mickey volleys back to Lip over Ian’s dividing arm, “Shit, he didn’t even know fuck-all until today, and ... Fuck! I got married ‘cause my dad was gonna’ kill him if I didn’t! I did it ‘cause I thought it’d keep him breathing! After he caught us, it was the only way, and,” he scoffs at himself, “it wasn’t a week after he left that I called the cops on my old man during one of his runs and threw her ass out ‘cause I was ready to wait,” he looks to Ian, whom looks like every thing else in the whole world just went away, and he returns the expression, “... for him”.

It was again Fiona whom broke the stillness of revelation by turning the hazed-over couple around by their shoulders. “Wait, you married a prostitute to protect him from your father and then sent him to jail and kicked her out because he left, and you went to a war because you couldn’t stand to see him married to some one else,” she calculates the timing in her head, “and that’s when you got so trashed”.

When they don’t respond because they can’t, because being so lovesick is so not either of them, but it’s all true, and they don’t want it admit it to all of the people in the Gallagher house, Fiona does some thing no one could’ve expected. “Come’re, after all you’ve been through ...,” she condoles as she pulls both of them in to a hug.

Mickey does try to swat her away, but, as Fiona’s always been stronger than she looks, he just has to accept being hugged, while Firecrotch hugs his sister back. “It’s like _The Princess Bride_ ,” he hears the other one say, and Fiona releases him and Ian to give Debbie the floor completely.

“... Only Mickey _did_ get married to protect Ian,” the redheaded girl clarifies, but only receives looks of confusion in return.

She sighs, because she knows that _every_ one has seen that movie, and multiple times at that, so this doesn’t have to be yet an other instance of her feeling like she’s an outsider in her family of misfits for feigning at least some normalcy. “You know, ‘Westley’ leaves ‘Buttercup’ behind, and then she thinks that he died, but he comes back as ‘The Dread Pirate Roberts’ – an assumed identity – and she agrees to marry evil ‘Prince Humperdinck’ so he won’t really kill ‘Westley’, but he’s planning on killing both of them any way. That doesn’t matter, though, because ‘Westley’ escapes The Pit Of Despair and stops ‘Buttercup’ from committing suicide because she thinks he’s actually dead now because he didn’t stop the wedding and she’d rather die than live with the evil prince and with out ‘Westley’. He tells her that it didn’t count because she never said ‘I do,’ and they defeat ‘Humperdinck,’ and run off to Happily Ever After”.

Every one’s quiet for a minute as they realize how right she is about the similarities and no one but them notices how Ian and Mickey awkwardly stare at each other because they know that Debbie’s more right than she knows.

“I think that you just compared a hooker and Terry Milkovich to a smarmy prince, Debs, but it does sound like our brother was part of a classic love story!,” Fiona muses while she swivels back to Ian and squeezes his cheeks and chin like people do when they’re proud of some one, but still want to tease them.

“Come on, Carl, let’s go patch those holes,” Lip groans as he grabs said little brother by the shoulders, abdicating that Ian will always receive absolution in this house, but a pale, thick, and hairy, arm prodded in between them halts him.

”I’ll do it,” writhes from Mickey’s mouth, ”Let me do it with him”. He feels good about himself for genuinely wanting to help, despite the Gallagher sisters just being in concurrence that he’s like some prissy blonde bitch, because he does blame himself and now he’s got what he wanted – Gallagher.

”Uh, okay!,” Lip puts his hands in the air in surrendering Carl. A part of him wants to get territorial, but it’s not like he _wants_ to fix the walls, and he doesn’t want to jinx Mickey ever offering to help again. That’s why he doesn’t even ask how Mickey knew exactly what they were going to go do. “Every thing’s in the shed,” he calls out as the kitchen door slams behind two people he knows will get along almost too well, and he begins to wonder if he’s just screwed himself for just letting those two team up. He considers going after them and just doing the job himself; letting Carl mess the foundation of their house; what was he thinking?, but then Ian comes in to view and he remembers why Mickey wouldn’t let any thing truly disastrous happen.

”Look ... I really am sorry about M.I.T. I didn’t think that it would screw you up like that. ... I’m goin’ to call tomorrow and get you back in for the next term. I’ll explain every thing,” Ian gains initiative with almost every word that churns from between his teeth, and, yet, he can see that Lips still not buying it.

Lip looks like he’s just _waiting_ to laugh in his barely-younger brother’s face, but he can’t do it, he’s too fucking mad about not getting out of the Southside. ”You’re right, you didn’t think, you just ran when you should’ve been getting over yet an other married man and I should’ve been out of here! You have always gotten off easy – I’ve made sure of it! – so, of course, you think they’re just going to take me back because the blessed voice of ours truly ordains it!”.

“They really wanted you before, and I’m the one whom screwed up, not you. I’ll fix this!,” Ian is positive that M.I.T. will renew their admittance offer, and he chooses to chew down the fact that Lip won’t stop ragging on his and Mickey’s complicated relationship any time soon. It was on the right track now, and it was always different than any thing he had with any body else, so he doesn’t let it bother him.

Lip turns to entice their audience of trusted V, two sisters, baby brother, and deadbeat father to weigh in, “He did get Mickey ‘I Hate Gays Even Though I Am One’ Milkovich to stand up and admit he’s in love with him, maybe he will get the tied-for-first best tech school on the planet to give a ghetto kid a second chance in hell to get out!,” but they don’t, because they’re just too happy that Ian’s back to see any good reason to hash shit out now, or don’t care either way because Gallaghers always find a way around The Man and the not-son of whom held this belief was the best at it out of them.

Ian looks away, sneering in indignation and to see if Carl and Mickey are on their way back because … - why were they getting the stuff to patch holes with and why is it taking so long? – before looking back at his older brother with a clenched jaw, “Yeah, it’s not like an admissions advisor came here and waited hours for you to come home and write an essay! Oh, wait, ... You’re an engineering genius! ... Unless you’re goin’ back to cowering about wanting to go,” he stiffens his adamantine stance.

Lip can feel all parties judgmentally staring at him, daring him to deny having reverted to his essentially aimless ways, “I won’t hold my breath”.

With the air finally thinning around them, Debbie takes her chance to dash over to Ian and squeeze her arms around his waist, “I missed you! Thought I’d never see you again. It wouldn’t have been okay”. The sniffing up of a fresh flow of emotions can be heard from both redheaded siblings, the women in the background, and, reluctantly, the eldest brother.

Ian holds his little sister’s head to his chest, “I know, Debs, I’m sorry. I’ll never leave you guys again,” and they just continue to cling to each other for a while.

After a moment of distilled quiet, Debbie regains certainty that he really is there, and for good, and she’s able to let go and back away from him.

Liam walks up to his brother whom is his opposite in height and coloring, and Ian chuckles at his baby brother’s shy approach, “Hey, little man, remember me?”.

It pangs Ian to feel like that’s a legitimate question.

“Nefwr die awgin, Eewin!,” the tyke orders as Ian swoops him up in to his arms, and, with his hands on Ian’s shoulders, he pulls back to stare at Ian’s face to rememorize it.

Ian laughs at how Liam still has the recognizable traces of a certain particularity that speaks of a kid’s innocence, and he couldn’t be happier for it, “You got it”.

Liam makes it clear that he is satisfied and wants down. He runs off to rummage through his toys in the living room. Subtle snickering falls over the space he has left to his elders.

V comes up and curves an arm high around Ian’s neck, “Hot fuckin’ freak in the sack? ... ’Cause I know the type. Can’t blame ya’, hell, I _married_ the type!,” she remarks as though it’s not a known fact that, if any thing, she’s freakier than Kev and that’s the only reason why Ian would be with Mickey.

It’s then that the ‘Ben Wa’ boy, and Carl, comes busting back through the kitchen door with the paint, joint compound, various utensils which lie on the buckets, drywall, and an empty bowl that he quickly fills at the kitchen facet after temporarily unloading the rest of his heave on to the counter, saving Ian further indictment, and probably himself from the embarrassment of speculations about his possible proclivities.

“This is why I used to be smart enough not to help you people,” Mickey shoots daggers at Ian that have no edge because having him back is honestly still worth having to hear any inane question that Carl could ask, ”Ask your brothers if you wanna’ know so bad, but, if you want to not fix the walls by yourself, hurry the-fuck up,” he decrees with out looking back at the kid or any one else and walks back through the living room (the stair gate from Debbie’s daycare had been left up in the kitchen so, with his hands and arms fill, he can’t take those stairs to where he’d heard Carl raging earlier).

”I just wanted to know if it’s more than two dudes, then is it some kind of gross dick-train thing!,” Carl calls out in self-defense while trying to keep up and balance the clanking buckets in his arms.

”I should go ref. over _that_ ,” Ian thumbs in their distancing direction, still in the dark about what they are going to do.

Fiona watches in astonishment as he catches up to the duo she too has unease over the mixing of and take two containers from him, pressing against Mickey closer, and longer, than necessary, and Mickey just letting him.

”Ian’s dead. Ian’s alive. Ian’s head over heels for a Milkovich and has him fixing our house with _Carl_ with out asking. Remember when I thought that he was the one I thought would be mostly worry-free?”. The family guardian sublimates to herself and then beseechs the question to her best friend as she sinks in to a chair.

V smiles back at her with pity. ”He could’ve just been making up for lost time”.

Fiona leers back at her from under a hand she’d been using to rub her temples, ”And running off to the army wasn’t enough?!,” she implores histrionically.

”Jesus Christ, Carl, you did this?! ... Why?,” Ian poses in bewilderment as they come upon a sweep of thick holes in one of the walls of the upstairs hallway, and starts to square off a hole with the utility knife.

”You were dead” is Carl’s reply, saying it plainly, like it wouldn’t twist the heart of any one whom heard it. He picks up a slab of spare drywall, measures it against a hole close to him, and scours around for the knife. Now he looks the picture of ‘dejected’. ”Hey! I wanted on knife-duty!”.

Mickey picks and scrapes away at the loose clumps of the wall in one of the other holes as Ian pulls the knife out of Carl’s reach. ”Sayin’ I’d help you fix it didn’t mean I wanna’ watch you make more of a mess, kid”. Mickey can feel his next words coming even if he felt like putting every thing he has in to trying to swallow them, so he just packs some residual concentration in to ripping out a exceedingly ornery chunk to quell their blaringly intrinsic poignancy as they coast out towards Ian, ”though, I don’t know what _you_ were expecting when you left every one to ever care about you behind for old, greedy, fuck-heads in suits in D.C. whom don’t even know you to get shot at in some towel-head country,” he shrugs begrudgingly as he swipes away the remnants of that no-longer-incessant tuft of the wall, ”then again, you’re in to old, greedy, fuck-heads whom wear suits _and_ towel-heads”.

Ian lets Mickey keep his bitterness for now – he’ll show him what really matters later – and stays silent. He still, however, tosses back his head in a way that would be amusingly habitual if it weren’t also out of near-chronic frustration.

The three of them work together for about half of an hour until the wall’s ready to be ready to be repainted tomorrow when the compound is dry. They leave the brushes and paint cans and restore the rest of the equipment back in the shed.

It’s getting dark out by the time that’s all done. ”You two can use your bed now, but the sex has to be done by bedtime, then, if you wanna’ stay, Mickey, you can _just_ sleep in there with him,” Fiona vestiges to the two older of the three as they came back inside as discreetly as a Gallagher can.

Mickey would be ticked off at Fiona for being so presumptuous, but there’s actually nothing that he can think of that he’d rather do than what she’d assumed they’d want to do, and he knows that Ian read these thoughts when he lifts his rook sack back off of the floor and signals him up the now-open kitchen stairs.

They get to the room, Ian shuts the door behind them, and the bag socks to the bedroom floor.

Even in the dim light, and from where he’s taken a seat on Ian’s (he guessed being that it’s the one with the camouflage blanket on it) bed, he can see the redhead’s eyes go dark and it makes him feel like the walls are closing in, and that shouldn’t make him feel good, but it does, because he’s alone with a turned-on Ian Gallagher, and that’s a good place if you ask him. It does, nevertheless, make him feel light-headed.

The mutual mental fog between them dissipates (more so on Ian’s side than on Mickey’s), but for only a minute as the younger flinches in to self-awareness. ”Fuck!, I should call Mandy to tell her we’re okay, and explain the not-being-killed-in-the-army”. He catches Mickey standing up, and – _is that a smile?_ – coming closer as he looks to his duffel bag to find his phone, but the genuine sleekness in Mickey’s voice stops him before he can really refocus on the task.

”She texted me while I was getting the stuff with the kid. I told her that we’d be by tomorrow to tell her how you’re still here, and only what she needs to know about me, but not to bother us until then”.

Ian snickers and leans in to the mysteriously blue-eyed boy, voice, and head, dipping low, “Always knew you were smarter than you look”.

The older boy rolls his eyes, “Why you gotta’ insult me when I know you just wanna’ get in me?,” then he groans, in both pleasure and annoyance, as the only person to make him feel like this crashes their lips together.

Ian jerks Mickey even closer than he’d plunged forward on his own with a firm grasp on the back of his neck and then holds his head steady by employing his other hand to the other side of Mickey’s face.

Mickey sort of wishes that he could pistol-whip himself for not letting Gallagher kiss him for the first few years they were fucking because their tongues pushing against each other in the single cavern they’ve made of both of their mouths feels so good to him.

Ian feels Mickey tug at his belt. First, it’s a barely successful attempt, but, before Ian can even think to try to help, Mickey’s got his pants, and his boxers, as well as both of his own, down to their knees, and, even through their current, and former, lust-filled haze, they can remember their first time being a lot like this.

This would be better, though, and a first time in it’s own right. People knew about them now, and neither no longer cared, and now they know exactly what the other likes and weren’t just two boys fighting whom turned horny during the struggle over a crowbar. They had both fallen in love in the time since and probably a lot sooner than either really want to admit.

Ian chokes out a guffaw as he arches back, still holding on to Mickey’s neck, “Why are you going so slowly?”. He spins Mickey around in that all-too-familiar motion with the crux of one of his thumbs and spits in to his other palm as they laugh in unison. Mickey shoves his hands in to the bed in front of him and he hears a sound that has yet, and will never, fail at making him even harder than he already is and/or was when ever he was about to get fucked: Firecrotch slicking up said body part.

“Get in me _now_ , Gallagher, or I’ll find some one else whom will,” true to self, Mickey grunts out impatiently.

Ian leans over to one of the older boy’s ears, and aligns his readily hard cock at his hole, but doesn’t push in.

“Very funny, Mick, I know that it’s only my dick that you always,” he pushes in and his face almost lights up the dark room with pride as Mickey’s eyes and head roll back, “want”.

There is no adjustment time – Ian was right, Mickey could never get enough, and trying to hide it has gotten pointless and tiring – Mickey starts purposefully grinding himself back and forth on Ian before that good full feeling can blind him from concentration.

It’s Ian whom can’t help but see white for a second before they match rhythms. Mickey’s still just loose enough from earlier, but now he’s clearly invested in making this round particularly worth remembering for, you know, _ever_ , and mindfully clenching around his favorite dick. ... Yeah. He can admit that he prefers it even to his own.

Speaking of which, he shifts his weight to one side, because he needs to spread some of the erogenous sensory overdrive to it, and away from his prostate, which the fire crotch always could hit perfectly, or he’ll have to start worrying about seizing up so tightly that it actually hurts him or Gallagher, and not in the way they like, and reaches down to stroke his cock with out losing pace. He feels relief immediately, and it’s not only from the act itself, but also in assessing that he hadn’t rubbed himself completely raw on the rooftop in all of the white-hot depravity earlier this afternoon.

They keep this steadfast momentum of Mickey gladly taking all of Ian while avidly jerking himself off and Ian making sure that they both feel every long, hard, stroke until Ian notices Mickey’s balance, hunched over his bed, increasingly wavering and pulls out to deftly direct Mickey to get fully on the bed. He, too, climbs on to his own mattress, barely behind (as in ‘almost on top of’) Mickey, but has a moment of struggling with his nerves. He’s wanted to do this since that one fight turned in to the first time they had sex, but that happened all too fast, and, after, Mickey had made it clear that it would never happen at all. Now, they have kissed, it was even Mickey whom instigated the first two, and a few of them were right before they had sex, but never had they done it during sex and he just really wants to know what that would be like. So, he tries it, and Mickey’s reaction leaves him with regret.

Upon being kissed with his mouth slacked open, and his hole still adept for the other’s dick, Mickey jolts up and tugs on the back of Ian’s head needing him as close as possible when his tongue spurs in to his lover’s mouth as he’s re-entered and bares down on that vehement cock.

Ian should’ve tried that a lot sooner. He’s slowly realizing that he can persuade Mickey to do just about any thing. That, or Mickey really wants the things that he says he objects to, and merely needs Ian to push him over his predisposed limits.

Ian wrangles Mickey’s tongue back in to his mouth with his own once Mickey had gotten thoroughly familiar with how each section feels against it and does a bit of the same to Mickey.

The screwing perpetuates at the same rapid succession while the kissing has merged in to a stalwartly languid culmination that they actually like – fuck it, all-out, love – kissing ... each other. Neither of them, especially not Mickey, had been in to it until stuff really started to escalate between them, and never really with other people, but, now that they (read: Mickey) are allowing themselves to be open and find comfort in the other, they don’t feel like not being connected at as many places as possible.

Their pants start to be too laboring to ignore, so Ian kicks off his shoes and socks, gives Mickey one long and buoying kiss, stingily pulls out, steps out of his pants and boxers, and swipes his shirt from his body.

Mickey loves to see his boy get naked.

Ian needs to see all of Mickey as often as possible, and Mickey seems to be in some sort of trance again, so he moves on to Mickey's clothing and has it all off in seconds. He torpedoes back in to Mickey at both ends. His lips are almost more electrifying than his prepossessing ass with their novelty. He plans on getting used to them.

When the fucking becomes a little too raw, even for them, Ian protracts from the newfound form of leisure to spit more of, what is now, their mingled saliva on to the other hand as the time before (that one just has better balance on the bed at the moment) and slips halfway out of Mickey to re-lube himself up and ‘get all of the way back in there’ before Mickey can demand he do exactly that.

Mickey couldn’t see the entire maneuver, but the blend of what he did see, what his imagination fills in, and the actual resulting sensation has him revved back up with fresh heat, and reels his weight forward until the redhead has to bolster himself up towards the foot of his bed; this is not going to be top-just-lays-on-their-back sex (as if they ever have that); Ian is going to give his all to convince Mickey that, since they started, it had been about only Mickey.

Other guys were just to pass time and blow off the steam of having to grow up on the south side until Mickey could free himself of being so guarded because of fear.

Ian will credit that he’s also motivated by just how much Mickey seems to have cut ties with his terror of openly admitting who he really is when it comes to sex. It fucking turns him on to know that Mickey’s okay with his family knowing what they’re doing right now (well, maybe not in great-detail, but he wouldn’t want them knowing that either), and, while he may still be young, he’s had years of experience at giving it to guys good enough to get them to buy what ever he was selling, and it’s been with Mickey more than any one else, so he strokes hard against that spot inside his ... _boyfriend_ (? ... he’ll have to ask about that later).

Mickey is getting banged so forcefully that he’d think that the person doing it hates him if he didn’t know what Ian was actually doing. He always just wants more when ever Gallagher gets like this. He fucking loves it. He loves--

“I love you! I love you! I love you! I love you! I love you! I love yo--”.

“Okay!!!,” Fiona shrieks up from downstairs, where the bed squeaking and slamming against the wall can be heard like the house is made out of paper, because it practically is, and Mickey’s yelling can likely be heard outside, “We wouldn’t have believed you yesterday, but we’re convinced, so can you give the ear-breaking proclamations a rest for today?!”. She rolls her eyes at Lip, whom just shrugs in return, and goes back to doing the dishes.

Mickey grunts in annoyance and squeezes his dick and balls harder than he’d just been jerking himself in syncopation to Ian’s thrusting to hold tight to build-up they’d been heading towards. He knows what had happened would’ve had him turned off and in hiding for the rest of his life before he had his dad sent away, but now he’s merely pissed that it made the best lay he’s ever had stop, and wishes that Fiona would’ve let him continue announcing how he feels to the fucking neighborhood so he could come.

His cohort sees this, though, and feels exactly the same. Ian catches Mickey off-guard when he propels himself up and back deep in to him.

Their eyes meet again as Mickey’s body sinks back in to the connection. Ian’s expression is one of wonder and love, while Mickey has a flash of shock on his face that quickly turns in to a twisted smirk, but both can’t imagine how they got to be so lucky.

“I really fucking do,” Mickey whispers as he leans down to kiss Ian, and he’s never felt so honest.

The awkward, yet proud, laugh that Ian makes as they come out of the kiss can’t be helped. He wouldn’t have even recognized this side of Mickey if his subconscious hadn’t been telling him that it was in there some where all of these years, and now Mickey’s all-but flaunting it, and that has Ian a little drunk off of his own happiness that it was because of him.

After a few more thrashes, Mickey comes in his hand and all over Ian’s stomach, which has Ian coming inside of him just moments later.

When Mickey can put any effort in to moving again, he collapses back on to the bed, and is visibly disappointed when he’s forced to realize that means Ian’s dick can’t stay inside of him.

Ian rustles up enough energy to elbow-and-kick his way in to squeezing in between Mickey and the back wall. His bed, like Mickey’s old one, is too small for them, but he couldn’t give a shit because the man he loves is so close that he can hear him breathing still raggedly from fucking, and he’ll never find a reason to complain about that.

Mickey seems to not mind the proximity either, and that isn’t actually too surprising to Ian being that Mickey had cautioned him that, if he ever tried to talk about it, he’d pay him back for getting shot _twice_ when he had woken up to Ian staring at his arm which was flung over Ian’s hard abs the morning of their singular previous sleepover, because he only moves closer once the Gallagher has settled in to place and pulled up the covers.

The dark-haired thug tenses as he acknowledges what he’d just done and then rubs his clean and dry thumb over his bottom lip.

“What?”.

“Shit. She’s right,” he says, though he doesn’t yet finish his thought. He’s bowled-over with the impulse to reassure himself that Gallagher is really here, so he tempestuously reaches out and grazes the closest freckled arm. He’s there and this isn’t just an other one of his fucked up dreams that make him hate waking up.

“Who?,” Ian presses, and tries to unscrew the tinge of discombobulation from his face.

“Re--Your little sister. I’m a fucking gay princess,” Mickey whines while clutching his face with his hands in frustration, not lost on the fact that the ‘gay’ part couldn’t be more true at moment with cum leaking out of his ass.

Ian snorts at the admission.

Mickey scans the room out of nervousness and happens to see a box of tissues on the tall dresser by the bed. He pulls one out to wipe the cum off of his hand and passes an other to Ian whom swipes off his stomach as Mickey free-throws his in to the trash can. “... How’d you know some thing was up?,” he wonders aloud, and silently thanking, and cursing, whomever that he’s found some one whom knows him so well.

Ian tosses his tissue across the room and in to the bin. “Did the thumb slash lip thing” is Ian’s reply and he hears Mickey snicker in return. “What now?”.

Mickey has to stop himself from biting his lip before his acquiesce. “You have one too, you know, a thumb thing”. He knows exactly what common gestures Gallagher is referring to and it unnerves him that Ian has noticed them and made them a ‘thing’.

“I do?,” Ian squints, stumped on what Mickey might be eluding to and perplexed about Mickey knowing some thing about him that he didn’t know about himself.

Mickey turns more to his side to face the buzz-cut boy better. “You press it really hard in to my back every chance you get. Always have”.

Ian dodges his eyes to the window, embarrassed, “I’ll stop. You should’ve said some thing sooner”.

The smaller, yet probably just as muscular, man pounces on top of the other. “Stop and you’re never getting on me again. It’s a goddamn turn-on!”.

Ian chuckles as he can’t help but run his hands up Mickey’s chest. “So are yours!”.

Mickey rolls his hips in to Ian’s, and calculatingly bites his bottom lip, but then sits excruciatingly still. “Prove it,” he jousts from between the wantonly red and swollen lips he’s going to use against Firecrotch more often now that he knows that they put Ian in the mood, and yes, knows what ‘double entendre’ means. His eyes go deep and dark again as Ian caroms up and crash their mouths together. The redhead sucks hard on his bottom lip. Within seconds, they’re dry-humping, and, therefore, they’re both grunting and groaning.

“I’m coming in with Liam in two minutes, so no more sex for tonight, okay, boys?!,” Fiona calls out from the bathroom down the hall. They hear her add “We wouldn’t want you walking in on Big Brother getting busy with a dirty hood rat and be even more scarred for life. No, we wouldn’t, no, no, no” in squeaky for-kids tone and said hood rat then topples back on to the bed and rights the covers. No, he’s not sulking, just cold from all the sex and it _is_ August.

“We _know_ things about each other. You know things about me”. Ian confines himself to not laugh outright. “... So, can you finally agree that we’re boyfriends now?,” he asks peering at his celling with measured hope in his voice.

“Fuck that,” Mickey says slowly with vague intent, and removes his arms from under the blankets.

Ian rolls his eyes at the one person whom could drive him crazy better than any one else, but then watches him take off his wedding band, cue him to lift his head, unhook the corrected dog tags (‘Phillip Gallagher’s’) that the army let him keep, string the ring on to the chain, and re-clasp the piece of identification around his neck.

“I’ll sign what ever the fuck you want when you turn eighteen next week, but I ain’t goin’ through with an other damn ceremony,” Mickey says too plainly for some one who’s just done and said the most important thing that he’ll ever do or say.

Ian’s not Lip, but he is a Gallagher, so he can think fast. “Fiona might give me consent --”.

“I would not,” she says guilelessly with Liam on her hip from the doorway, and strolls in to plop Liam in to his bed and tucks him in. “I’m not going to try to stop ya’, but I just think it’s time you start doing things only when the law says you’re old enough to do them now that we Gallaghers are upstanding boarding-middle-class citizens,” she sing-songs ‘law’ and ‘upstanding’. “Carl!, Debbie!, bed!!!”.

“She’s out with Holly!,” Lip heralds from ... some where in the house, and the present sister shrugs ponderously as though she’s trying to convince herself that she knew that.

Ian peers down at the dull glimmer of the clamoring of gold and silver around his neck, and it’s the most wrong thing that he has ever seen. It’s also the most right thing he’s ever seen. He flicks at the round scrap with his left ring finger, “I’m surprised that you know it’s now legal here and that you actually know my birth day,” he notes as his sister leaves the room.

Mickey has no comment, so Ian continues, “You’re serious about this?”.

Mickey risks looking at the guy he’s toes-over-ass for, whom is glowering at him expectantly, before decreeing “You’re never leavin’ again and I’m not goin’ any where”.

“Great! I’m going to be Mickey Milkovich’s brother-in-law any way,” Lip vies to interject from his room with a bitter sigh having more than enough powers of deduction to determine what just happened, and makes a why-do-I-bother motion when he’s ignored.

Ian clamps a hand to his forehead trying to keep in a thought that was more of a reality than mere thought, and now he’s, once again, hesitant to look at his pseudo-yet-not-fiancé (this is so happening) because it’s the truth, “You tried to kill yourself because of me!”.

The other newly betrothed boy slants his jaw. “So did you, dipshit!,” then he playfully punches the excommunicated cadet in the ribs.

Ian grabs Mickey by the wrist and rolls on top of him. He pins both of Mickey’s arms to his bed, but can’t really retaliate because there’s too much openness and love coming from Mickey’s eyes straight up to him, and his older sister’s exasperated voice is coming in through the walls to derail him from taking any action at all.

“You’re perfect for each other! Point made! Now, can you stop so we can all get some sleep?!”.

Ian goes stannic above Mickey and then impetuously rolls his eyes. “’night, Fi!,” he bemoans before hurling himself back on to the bed in defeat. It's not like he’d actually do any thing with his baby brother in the room and his other little brother on the way up, but the guy he’s spent the last four years falling in love with just went from refusing to verbally admit that he has feelings for him to proposing after screaming ‘I love you!’ over and over through his knowingly full house, and he merely wanted to revel in it for a minute. Still, he knows not test Fiona Gallagher, or fuck with her sleep.

“Goodnight, Ian! Goodnight, Buttercup!,” the pert smile on her face can practically be heard.

“I’m goin’ kill her!,” Mickey snarls as he tries to launch himself from the bed, but is caviled back down by Ian’s acute upper-body strength.

“You’re not going to kill her,” the more agile of the two directs in to the other’s ear, “she’d get to you first”.

_Does he mean ‘kill me’ or ‘get on my good side’?_

Mickey quickly relinquishes the thought. He’s never going worry about any thing too much with those succoring arms around him.

Two hours later ...

He had given her a code name in his phone to disguise the fact that he actually had contact with the Gallaghers while Ian was gone and she had done the same to him because she thought that it was cool and to discourage Holly from trying to hit him up for drugs.

 **Mouse Boy:** Rly? Wit dat prncs brde sht? Yr sstrs usn it nw!

 **Secret Weapon:** Sry. I’ll gt hr 2 stp. Dnt b mad.

 **Mouse Boy:** Nah, hes bck, cnt rly b mad ... @ my SIL.

 **Secret Weapon:** ? ... ZOMG!!1!

 **Mouse Boy:** Yeh, nt letn hm leave agn, so nw ull hv 2 gd-lkn odr brtrs.

 **Secret Weapon:** B 9ce 2 Lip, hes ur fmly nw, 2.

 **Mouse Boy:** Fck! Dnt rmnd me.

“Who are you talking to?,” Ian groggily prostrates, and then fails at reading Mickey’s phone screen, especially sense it’s under the covers with Mickey, “If it’s already an other guy, don’t bother, jealousy is more your thing and we’re beyond the point of no-return”.

Mickey sends out one more text before curling back in to his new favorite position.

 **Mouse Boy:** Gdnt, Red 2, hres 2 nt hdn!

Debbie smiles, and shuts her phone off as Mickey tightens Ian’s arm around his waist, “Yeah, Gallagher, I know”.

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted Mickey screaming "I love you!" as Ian screwed him so hard that his eyes rolled back in his head. I made it happen. I wanted Debbie to be Mickey's hag. I made it happen. There will be (at least) two more sequels. One will be a drabble that takes place later on in the middle of the night and the other will be an other full-length fiction with the Milkoviches' reactions and how Debbie became Mickey's "Secret Weapon". Please give love if you have it.


End file.
